


Evolution

by RhetoricFemme



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: And then this happened, Fluff, Just the Beginning, M/M, Requited Love, i had an urge to write, i'm creating Viktor's background in my mind, meta?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 16:22:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8408461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhetoricFemme/pseuds/RhetoricFemme
Summary: With the Grand Prix behind them, Viktor heads back to Russia, only to wonder if he's headed in the right direction.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings and Salutations!
> 
> So, here is my first YOI fic! I didn't plan this, so all I know is that I'm pretty sure this is a oneshot.
> 
> Pretty. Sure. Of that. Yep. >.>
> 
> If you read this, I'd deeply appreciate feedback; constructive criticism and accolades are both friends. :)

When passion begets rigor and discipline, Victor prides himself on a keen sense of imagination that immaculately ties it all together without fail.

It only seems sensible then, that one day he would have to look beyond the physicality of his own career, to lay hands on whatever prospects lie ahead.

No one is more surprised than Victor when he finds such promise in Yuuri Katsuki, the one who had not only broken from skating, but had shrugged Victor off along the way.

Victor spends an hour replaying Yuuri’s replicated performance—the one never intended for anyone to see—asking himself whether this particular athlete had ever shown so much heart in any of his previous performances. He doesn’t need intuition to sense the answer is _no_ , much less the innate desire he has for learning what else this Yuuri Katsuki is capable of.

He’s been around long enough, worked with personalities as diverse as the world itself, with temperaments that run the gamut. Within mere weeks of being in Japan, Victor is ready to be whatever it is the sweet and dedicated Yuuri requires him to be; sees the role fulfillment as a necessary avenue on this road to victory for the both of them.

It comes as no surprise the day Victor admits to himself that he’s become caught up in a bevy of intimate notions involving Katsuki, as he’s always been an emotional man, and always will be. These affections happen.

Victor knows this about himself.

It’s something altogether different, then, when he begins to feel a shift in his sense of independence. It’s the same day Victor boards the long-dreaded flight back to Mother Russia. The day he finds himself looking for a deep breath that just won’t come; the moment he grasps for a piece of security he knows cannot follow where he now goes.

It’s simple enough to ignore the drone of the plane’s engine, or the obnoxious fumes that stink up so many runways. In fact, they become small comforts when like a child in need of a blanket, the spaces between Victor’s fingers ache for the feeling of thick, dark hair and a generations-old tortoiseshell comb.

No matter. It had been a phenomenal season full of professional highs and unspoken lows, though there was solace in knowing somewhere in the future they would meet again.

For now, Victor takes what solace he can while nestled against a first-class window, and consents his body to give itself over to the slow wave of sleep.

It’s simultaneously a blessing and a curse, as the last twenty-four hours have left him physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted and wanting for some kind of reprieve. Unable to shut his mind off, every last bit of touch, all their last words, each trilled piece of laughter had been left overshadowed by the malignant notion of it being just that: the last.

But then, Victor can’t help the smile and warmth generated by the song that emanates within his head. How can he not be affected by it? The pastel symphony that builds its cadence on the steel beams of newly discovered sensuality, and the unabashed allure that comes with wholly _owning_ it.

Affected to the point where he would give a part of himself just to see this song personified, even if there was no respectable way to remain _Just Victor_ while unapologetically reaching out for it. No, there could be no claimant, save for the body whose movement inspired such beautiful music to start with.

Instead, Victor had feigned his satisfaction while being made to share what had ultimately become his eros with the entirety of the world. Ah, but what a time it had been.

So it is.

The moment Victor’s feet touch Russian soil is nearly a forgettable one; the air is so much cleaner and richer in Hasetsu, that all he looks forward to now is seeing Makkachin safely off the belly of the plane. The poodle grants him a look of relief, if slightly tinged with ire at having been relegated to cargo, of all places, but Victor gladly takes it.

Pulling out a pair of sunglasses, he situates them across the bridge of his nose before heading for the terminal. Any other occasion, Victor might treat the homecoming crowd to an excessive show of gratitude, throw out a wink or two for his undoubtedly appreciative fans.

Alas, he cannot find it within himself, what with being preoccupied with the question of whether Russia is still home, or not. It would be imprudent to hop the next plane back to Japan… Perhaps he could settle on being a citizen of the world.

It’s a compromise Victor believes himself able to handle. Enough so that the thought would have drawn a sincere smile across his face, were it not for the sudden jump of his heart into his throat.

Surely, he’s seeing things. Certainly it’s not what he’d like, but a trick of the light when toward the end of the procession of fans sunlight glints blindingly across a set of blue frames. But then, there is no imagining the purity of that smile, the one that resonates bolder than Homer’s very own Agape, and it’s then that Victor absolutely _knows_.

“ _Yuuri_.” The name escapes a near choke, bearing none of that trademark pomp and zeal Victor is practically infamous for. It’s a rather mortifying glitch in character, though how it softens Yuuri’s own features convinces Victor it would be worth stuttering all over again.

Toe-to-toe, neither man dares to move, when finally Yuuri’s lips part to whisper his own predicament.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh?” Victor can’t help but laugh. “How many times did I invite you into my bed? And no?”

The sound is infectious, and though he looks as if there is the world to lose, Yuuri lets slip a grin of his own.

“I couldn’t sleep after you left. It was too much trying to figure out which I hated more: you coming back here alone, or me having to remember what home is like without you.”

Par the course, Victor does not wait to pull Yuuri into an embrace. To move out of this particular muscle memory feels great.

The way Yuuri pulls Victor closer, the way he holds on tight, feels incomparably wonderful.


End file.
